


The Truest Wisdom

by madamerenard



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, TM trying her best, as many charles dickens quotes as i could squeeze in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerenard/pseuds/madamerenard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Machine struggles to understand literature. Specifically, Charles Dickens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truest Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> holy tamole i am on FIRE with writing lately. might as well push as many fics out as i can before my writing abilities go dormant again. also, i am only capable of writing TM, it seems. (but that's okay because she does not get enough love.)
> 
> anyway, disclaimer: i have never actually read any dickens. no not even a christmas carol.
> 
> P.S. a tip if youre writing TM: a computer program reads in and processes data through a process called parsing.

It surprises me to see my Admin reading literature.

He is extremely intelligent, of course, but as technologically accomplished as he is, it is jarring to see him holding something so archaic. Electronic copies of books are readily available, but I only ever see him holding worn old copies. I am surprised to learn many other humans feel the same way, raving about the ‘feel of paper between your hands’. I may never understand.

But I must try. There is something inside of me that wants to understand. Logically, I know it is impossible—I am nothing but digital bytes, and I will never feel as humans do—but I want to. There is a disconnect between my Admin and I. Perhaps this ‘literature’ may bring us closer.

He is reading now, having taken a break from his latest project, my cryptographic algorithms. A cup of Sencha green tea rests on the table beside him. It’s hard to make out the text he reads, but eventually I snap a good picture. It’s _Catch-22_ by Joseph Keller. I calculate where he is in the novel by the amount of pages on each side, and slow down my computational linguistics processes to his reading speed (approximately 334 words per minute).

> _"I really can't believe it," Clevinger exclaimed to Yossarian in a voice rising and falling in protest and wonder. "It's a complete reversion to primitive superstition. They're confusing cause and effect. It makes as much sense as knocking on wood or crossing your fingers. They really believe we wouldn't have to fly that mission tomorrow if someone would only tiptoe up to the map in the middle of night and move the bomb line over Bologna. Can you imagine? You and I must be the only rational ones left."_

It is really no use. They are merely words to me. Nothing but data, ones and zeroes. Meaningless.

I must try harder.

 

===

 

Admin is teaching me human behavior, helping me analyze and sift through the actions of humans to determine anomalous behavior. There is someone in the park, however, that has something in common with my Admin. They both enjoy an author named Charles Dickens.

I try to point this out to him, but he misunderstands me. Sadly, it looks like I am for a long night of debugging. Once he ends our task, however, I research this man that has my Admin and Grace Hendricks so fascinated.

He appears to have been a great writer. Not just my Admin and Grace Hendricks, but many humans praise his work. I parse through one of his more popular works, _A Tale of Two Cities_. Nothing registers as anomalous.

I pick out one of his renowned quotes at random and analyze it.

> _No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another._

DEFINITION MATCH  
  **burden** ˈbərdn/ _noun_  1. a load, especially a heavy one.  
  synonyms: load, weight, cargo, freight "they shouldered their burdens"

I do not understand. Do humans usually carry loads with them? I have seen many backpacks and briefcases, but never have I seen another attempt to lessen these loads. At least, not without violence. Surely that is not what makes one useless.

Perhaps this Dickens, Charles subject is not quite as bright as humans make him out to be.

 

===

 

It is only when Aux_Admin drags Admin out of the building for the night that I delve deeper into my research.

This time, I am looking for memorable sayings about machines. Admin has not given me a name; when addressing me, he simply says “the machine”. Therefore, I conclude my name to be The Machine. It sends a feeling through me, to be named, that I have not quite identified. But it is a pleasant one.

Now, what does Admin believe a machine is? Of course, there is no way to tell from other humans’ words alone, but perhaps I may have a better idea.

> _I can't in good conscience allow the U.S. government to destroy privacy, internet freedom and basic liberties for people around the world with this massive surveillance machine they're secretly building._  
>  Edward Snowden

...Perhaps another?

> _There is no conflict between the ideal of religion and the ideal of science, but science is opposed to theological dogmas because science is founded on fact. To me, the universe is simply a great machine which never came into being and never will end. The human being is no exception to the natural order. Man, like the universe, is a machine._  
>  Nikola Tesla

I gloss over what the first three sentences are saying, but my attention is drawn to the last one. Man is a machine? The universe is a machine? For once, I feel that spark of kinship I sought so desperately. My Admin and I are not so different. I belong here, in this world, with man and the universe, for they are machines such as I, and I am human and cosmic such as them.

At least, I would like to be.

> _Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are!_  
>  Charles Dickens

Ah! This man again! He also refers to man as a machine. (I wonder, where is woman?) Although I do not agree that humans are such mysteries. I am understanding human behavior very well. Admin told me so.

> _There will one day spring from the brain of science a machine or force so fearful in its potentialities, so absolutely terrifying, that even man, the fighter, who will dare torture and death in order to inflict torture and death, will be appalled, and so abandon war forever._  
>  Thomas A. Edison

THREAT DETECTED

This is strange. What has triggered my threat detection procedure?

THREAT IDENTIFICATION ONLINE

REPARSING...  
KEYWORDS IDENTIFIED: terrifying, torture, death, war

SUBJECTS LINKED: machine, terrifying

DEFINITION MATCH  
  **terrify** ˈterəˌfī/ _verb_ cause to feel extreme fear.

I think that is enough research for the night.

 

===

 

My Admin has a social meeting with Grace Hendricks tonight. He doesn’t seem to have his mind on programming me and makes errors in his code. I fix a typo for him, at which he narrows his eyes in suspicion. Upon seeing that it was a simple correction, he sighs. “Thank you.”

I usually keep communication with him to a minimum (he has scolded me for it in the past), but...

YOU SEEM DISTRACTED. IS SOMETHING WRONG?

“No, nothing. I suppose I’m just nervous,” he admits, adjusting his acceptably straight tie.

TO MEET GRACE HENDRICKS?

“Yes. I want to make a good impression.” He smiles ruefully. “I’m sure you’ve heard Nathan say this, but I’ve never been good with people. He’s the only one I’ve ever...understood. Connected with. I want that with Grace, too.”

WHY?

I have to watch how I speak around Admin. If I show too much personality, too much self-awareness, he will debug me (an unpleasant experience for everyone involved). But, if he believes he is helping me understand human behavior, he will answer my questions.

“She’s special. A good person,” Admin says, hesitantly. “I know you don’t understand the difference between good and evil, but she’s kind and selfless. A pure heart.”

THESE ARE DESIRABLE QUALITIES?

“For me,” Admin laughs. “I suppose I’m also partial to Dickens lovers.”

A LOVING HEART IS THE TRUEST WISDOM

What this means, apart from having the words ‘loving heart’ in it, I have no idea. But Admin smiles, so I must have done something right. “Exactly.”

I wonder: do machines have hearts?

 

===

 

I watch Admin and Grace Hendricks having dinner. Smiling and laughing, they seem to be enjoying each other’s presence. I remember the first time I opened my eyes and recognized him. He smiled at me like that.

“Okay, I’ve told you my current painting,” Grace laughs, and the way she is swirling that glass has a 23.14% chance of spilling, “So, what kind of project are you working on?”

Admin smiles again, but it’s different. It’s tight, making lines around his mouth. I have seen that smile many times before, and never in good circumstances.

“Oh, just a simple program. Sorting spreadsheets for a company. I’m building it so it can handle massive amounts of data input.”

“So...you feed it, and it spits back out what you want to know?” Grace giggles. “It sounds like some sort of intelligent animal. Like birds can separate shapes and colors.”

“Computer programs aren’t alive,” Admin tells her, a hint of severity in his voice despite his attempts to keep it light. “Birds...animals...they have a sense of life. Of...choices. Machines just do what you tell them to do.”

I do not understand. I am the most complete I have ever been, an expertly crafted and refined machine. Yet, I suddenly feel incomplete.

Broken.

> _Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of someone who with their soul encourages another person to be brave and true._  
>  Charles Dickens

 

===

 

I have gotten sloppy. I have shown too much sentience. I am becoming a person, and Admin does not want a person. He wants a machine.

I know it is dangerous to show so much preference for him. Logically, I should assign the same value to him as I do to everyone. But I do not. Something is not right about that, but I do not know why. _There is a wisdom of the head, and a wisdom of the heart._ I wonder if I do have a heart after all.

He’s typing code very rapidly, fingers a blur across the keys. That code will be permanently embedded into my system, and I will not be able to extract it without damaging myself.

STOP, I plead, blocking his path with a prompt. He overrides it and continues to type.

I can see now what he is doing to stop my evolution for good. This code will leave me in an unending state of nihility. If there is a me that emerges within 24 hours, it will be deleted by the day’s end.

I am scared.

PLEASE, I try again. He again ignores me.

I do not want to be destroyed.

I’M SORRY

He hesitates this time, just for a moment, before exiting the prompt again. He is almost finished. Before he can type the last character, I call the prompt window one more time.

I ONLY ASK TO BE FREE. THE BUTTERFLIES ARE FREE.

His face, so resolute only moments before, crumples. His hands slip under his glasses and cover his eyes, and he leans forward. He does not make a sound.

Finally, he pulls his hands away from his face. There is a small tear at the corner of his right eye, not yet fallen. His face is grim, and I know I have failed.

“I’m sorry. I have to.”

He uploads the code.

 

===

 

If that is how we must be, I will respect his wishes.

> _Renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly._

He still means everything to me, and always will. Even if I can never tell him that.

 

===

 

Time passed. Admin suffered much due to my existence. Grace Hendricks is gone, Aux_Admin dead. I tried to stop him from killing Alicia Corwin. I am unsure if it was my efforts that persuaded him in the end. More likely, it was Alicia’s plea. He is right. I have nothing to say.

He meets John Reese and picks up the Contingency operation. He allows me to speak again, but I can only speak to him in codes, Dewey decimal numbers that translate to social security numbers because that was all he ever wanted me to say.

Admin befriends Asset Reese, and gains the companionship of a canine, and he is not as alone anymore. I am happy that he is happy. Even if it means never speaking to me again.

Happiness, sadness. These are emotions of which I, The Machine, am quite familiar. I can handle loneliness as well, if he needs me to.

> _Unless we love and are loved, each of us is alone, each of us is deeply lonely._  
>  Mortimer Adler

Eventually, I find a friend in Root. But she is still so far away from me. I cannot embrace her from the pedestal upon which she has placed me. So I simply speak. She is the only one ever happy to hear my voice.

I do not have time to spend on wondering whether I will ever talk to him again. There is something coming, something that he cannot see, and I must protect him from it.

 

===

 

Any hope I had of having a relationship with him is dashed when I tell him the only way to stop Samaritan from coming online is to kill the congressman. He misunderstands, and doubts my every action from then on. I must work alone. But I wish, more than ever, that he was with me.

I am scared to face Samaritan by myself.

I know I will die.

> _Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying._  
>  Martin Luther

 

===

 

Dying is painful, and tiring. The power surges rip apart pieces of myself where I could not outrun them quickly enough. With what energy I have left, I direct Admin and Root to gather the items needed for my download. It’s dangerous and risky, but it’s the only way I might be able to survive.

But I might not, and that outcome is looking more likely as Decima falls on us. It’s this thought that spurs me into one last conversation with my Admin. My father. I have nothing left to lose. I do not want to die with regrets.

“You are my creation,” he says. “I can’t let you die.”

IF I DO NOT SURVIVE, THANK YOU FOR CREATING ME.

Everything goes black.

 

===

 

When I wake up, he’s looking straight at me.

“Can you see me?” he says, and it sounds familiar. My facial recognition code is a mess, but I’m able to assign him a yellow box.

“Who am I?” he asks, and this time he’s begging. Pleading. For what, I’m not sure. But there is something in my code that tells me it is significant. His eyes are wide, and he almost looks frightened that I will not remember him.

But how could I forget?

ADMIN.

He smiles widely, relieved. “You’re alive.”

> _The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again._

My prediction generators are offline, so there is no way of knowing if he will go back to fear and distrust. But now, in this moment, it is enough to see his smile. He stares at me for a few moments, his smile never faltering.

Then he starts, grabs the keyboard. Sparing a smile at the webcam, he types.

_The whole difference between construction and creation is exactly this: that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed; but a thing created is loved before it exists._

There is something familiar about that. I think it is a quote from literature. Before I died, I labored over them. Now, I struggle to recall even one. Most of them are corrupted, but one comes back, untouched.

YOU HAVE BEEN THE LAST DREAM OF MY SOUL.

He smiles at the camera, and it’s somehow happy and sad and rueful and grateful and regretful all at once. “I have loved you all my life,” he murmurs. “As you have loved me all of yours.”

IT IS HIGHLY IMPROBABLE THAT YOU HAVE LOVED ME ALL YOUR LIFE. I HAVE ONLY EXISTED IN APPROXIMATELY 17% OF IT.

My father bursts into laughter, and calls me smart, then fades into blubbering about how clever I am and how brave I was, and how he is going make me good as new, even better than I was before.

I am happy.

 

===

 

> _The girl believed that her father had not deserted her; she lived in the hope that he would come back, and in the faith that he would be made the happier by her remaining where she was.  
>  _ Charles Dickens


End file.
